


The Story Behind Nuffink (& Other Haddock Shenanigans)

by Areias



Series: Horrendous Haddocks and their Furious Friends [2]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother-Sister Relationships, But are still fun to write, Canon Compliant, Dragons stay AU, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Gen, Haddock family drabbles, Headcanon, How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World Spoilers, Movie 3: How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Canon, Post-How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World, Sibling Bonding, Stuff that don't fit in my longer fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-10-24 14:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areias/pseuds/Areias
Summary: Ever wondered why Nuffink is called... well, Nuffink?Want to see Zephyr getting her first taste of yaknog?And who will Nuffink invite to his first Snoggletog Dance?And what's that, Zephyr's being challenged to a duel, on the honor of her Clan?Have some Post-THW drabbles about everyone's favorite family![Latest update: Firemane. Or, Toothless helps comfort Hiccup during Zephyr's birth]





	1. The Story Behind Nuffink

While many Berkians often wondered how Nuffink came about his name, the boy himself never asked. It was kind of just accepted, then embraced, as a quirky fact about himself, and he had long since grown used to the teasing. Besides, was it really worse than Fluffnut or Spikelout?

Secretly, though, his (and Zephyr’s) money was on their father, what with Hiccup’s dorky sarcasm and extraordinary naming history. Finn considered himself lucky to have gotten away with ‘Nuffink’ when he first read about the fabled fjord of the Itchy Armpit.

Only Hiccup and Astrid knew the truth. The name hadn’t been chosen to ward off trolls or gnomes. It hadn’t been picked by Hiccup, even, and there was actually nothing goofy or jokey about the name at all.

The baby had been a midsummer’s child, you see, considered to be a great omen. In the days after his birth the sun never set, washing the lands with its brilliance. The village had been celebrating the birth of their beloved Chief’s first son, a boy bound to be adored by all.

And as the sun made circles in the sky, Astrid laid indoors, dying of childbed fever.

The willow barks and Gothi’s concoctions worked, for a time, but then the situation worsened drastically. Her temperature kept rising, until the point where ice on her forehead caused her physical pain. She was thirsty all the time, and delirious, and constantly shivered even beneath three woolen blankets.

Only Hiccup, Valka, and Gothi knew about Astrid’s condition. And they all knew they were losing her.

Hiccup refused to leave her side, feeding her and bathing her and changing the dressings for her birthing wounds, cleaning up the pus without a care. But as hope dwindled, the young Chief began to waste away. The brightness in his eyes was soon gone, replaced by a vacant stare as he watched his wife descend into death, completely helpless. He avoided everyone — his mother, his daughter, the newborn babe who didn’t have a name yet.

On the second Thor’s day after the baby’s birth, Astrid woke up, and saw Hiccup dozing by her bedside, thin and sallow and a husk of his former self.

She knew what was happening. She knew she was dying — and while that was scary, she knew her ancestors were awaiting her in Valhalla, and she had fought valiantly in life, and there was no shame to die for the life of her child. But she also knew that her death would break Hiccup beyond repair. He’d already lost Stoick and Toothless, and she was his last, brightest beacon of light. If she was snuffed out, he would be plunged into the abyss… and Berk would plunge with him.

Astrid needed him to be strong, even after she’s gone. She tried to speak to him. She wanted to see their son.

He woke up immediately, frantic and guilt-stricken that he’d fallen asleep. Soon the baby was brought to the room, and Astrid was holding him, smiling. Hiccup couldn’t bring himself to smile. In that moment, if he were honest, he even hated his own son.

Astrid saw his expressions and reached out. He leapt to grab her hands, which were cold and shivering, and was alarmed by how little strength she had left. Yet, there was not an expression of discomfort on her, and when he looked down at her smiling up at him, he broke.

“I can’t imagine a world without you,” he croaked out, collapsing at the foot of her bed. “I can’t.”

“I still remember the day when you first said that to me,” she replied, ruffling his hair gently. “I’m a mother, Hiccup. It’s an occupational hazard.”

He was suddenly furious that she’d used his own words against him. He wanted to stand up and kick the walls, but he was careless with his foot and lost his balance, crashing to the floor again. He pummeled the ground next to him, and when he felt her hand squeeze his ever so slightly, he buried his head in the sheets.

“Please, m’lady,” he rasped, and that’s when she noticed the dampness. When she caressed his face and lifted it up, his cheeks were streaming freely with tears. “I can’t lose you too. I can’t. I’ll have nothing left — nothing to care about —  _nothing_  to live for. Please, m’lady.”

By the end his voice was barely a harsh whisper. Perhaps the tone of it startled the baby, for he woke and began to wail.

Astrid felt herself getting weaker again. She thought Odin must have taken pity on her and given her this short stretch of clarity in her fevered state, but time was running out.

She cupped her husband’s face, and leaned forward to kiss him deep. He was still sobbing.

“Hiccup,” she said as she laid back onto the bed, her voice barely audible above the infant’s cry. “I’ve found a name for our son.”

Hiccup almost wanted to be  _angry_ , for his son was the last thing on his mind right now. But he saw she was fading fast, and humored her. “What is it, m’lady?” he managed to ask.

“Nothing,” she whispered, panting. “Nothing, nothing… Nuffink Haddock. You said you would have  _nothing_  left,  _nothing_  to care about,  _nothing_  to live for. Well, you’re right.” She held up the baby with the last ounces of her strength.

“This is your  _Nuffink_. You’ll have him to remind you of me. You’ll have him to care about. You’ll have him to live for.

Promise me, Hiccup.  _Live_. For him.”

* * *

Astrid would not die that day. Fortunately, Gothi had dug through the village records, and found an old recipe some long-lost warrior had raided from distant shores. It spoke of a grotesque mixture of molded bread and fruits which, when boiled and purified, should be capable of curing the most dire of ailments. With nothing left to lose, Hiccup ordered her to follow the recipe.

Maybe Odin was moved by the young woman’s tenacity and love, and decided she shouldn’t join his Valkyries just yet. Two days after the moldy potion was given, the fever released Astrid from its grasp.

Most of Berk was none the wiser about this ordeal. They thought the Chieftess had caught a simple cold, but was soon recovered and accepting visitors again. The village also had a good laugh over the youngest Haddock’s name.

“ _That’s_  what you two came up with?” Snotlout had said, exasperated. “You two had three  _weeks_ , and you came up with  _Nuffink!?_ ”

Hiccup only smiled tiredly as he stood by the bed. He and Astrid exchanged a small look, and agreed that it would be their little secret.

Later that night, with the sun still high up in the sky, Hiccup fell asleep. Astrid ordered an extra cot brought in, and the Chief didn’t even stir as Snotlout and Fishlegs lifted him up and dumped him on the mattress.

He ended up sleeping for two days straight. When he woke up and freshened himself up, he discovered to his surprise that he sported a thin beard. He’d neglected to shave for the whole past month after all. He took out his razor stone, and was about to do away with the thing when Astrid strode in, nursing little Nuffink.

“Looking very Chiefly,” she remarked.

Hiccup smiled, and put down the razor stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want more of Zephyr and Nuffink kicking ass, and more content involving the Haddocks, check out my Haddock family fic, **[Once There Were Dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701988/chapters/42137768)**. It's set 20 years after THW.


	2. A Dragon Babysitter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons don't leave AU. Baby Nuffink is having trouble sleeping alone, and his parents get help from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in an AU where the dragons didn’t leave, and instead settled on or near New Berk. It was written in response to a lovely prompt by crazy4dragons on Tumblr!

A wail resounded through the Chief’s residence, shattering the quiet night.

The Chief and Chieftess were, understandably, exhausted. She’d spent the better part of the day trying to figure out where to put the new dragon stables, while he’d been busy trying to train the dragons to operate the waterwheel mechanism which powered their hatcheries.

So far? Three crumpled groundwork designs, and a very burnt hatchery.

Which was why — also understandable — they neglected to wake up before the wail reached into its third note.

“ _Maaamaaaaa!!_ ” the third note resounded, louder than the previous two.

The Chief’s eyes snapped open. He bolted out of bed, scrambling for his prosthetic, but it was too late. Almost like clockwork, a second wail began, this one different in tone but equal in volume: “ _Waaahhhh!! Paaapaaaa!!!_ ”

This woke the Chieftess, who yanked back the strands of hair in her eyes, blinking to adjust her vision. Then her gaze met her husband’s.

“Hiccup,” she said, sounding like she had half a mind to start wailing herself, “I told you, you need to —”

“Get there before he cries for the third time,” Hiccup said, sighing as he scratched his beard. He rummaged around for his leg and sloppily snapped it into place.

Astrid slumped back onto the mattress. “Is it wrong to want to let you do all the work?”

Hiccup chuckled. “No,” he said. “I get the temptation. But you  _know_  once he’s fully awake —”

Astrid groaned and rolled herself off of bed. She cocked an eyebrow when she noticed her husband still standing at the foot.

“Well? Move! Shoo! Scram! Zeffie isn’t going to stop crying by herself!”

Hiccup laughed. “As you say, m’lady,” he replied, already hobbling out of the room.

Astrid allowed her self one last moment of laziness, before she leapt up and bounded for the doorway.

“Mamma’s coming, Finn!”

* * *

Ten nights after the incident, the two of them were slowly swaying by the hearth, both humming a nameless tune, a child in each of their arms. It was what passed for romantic dancing these days — with the added benefit of putting the kids to sleep.

Hiccup pressed a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. Drool ran freely down the shoulder of his tunic as she let out a tiny snore.

“Maybe we should wait?” he suggested, taking care to keep his voice to a whisper.

“He’s  _two_ , Hiccup. Zeffie started when she was just over one.” She looked at the toddler asleep in her arms, and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?” she whispered as she nuzzled her son’s blond hair — half-doting, half-exasperated.

“Well,” he reasoned, “Mom _did_ say that it took me quite a while before I started sleeping alone.”

“Ha. I knew you were to blame.” She sashayed closer and stomped him on his foot.

“Careful with the good leg, m’lady,” he quipped, before swiveling around and giving her a messy kiss. She kissed back warmly. The posture and the children made it a bit difficult, but gods did they need it.

Eventually, they decided to try it for one more night. One more, and then it was back to the big bed with Mamma and Pappa.

“You are a right little Mamma’s boy,” Astrid said as she tucked their son into his cradle, taking great care so he didn’t wake up. Hiccup chuckled by her side, having finished tucking in their daughter.

“You wouldn’t want it any other way,” he said. He pulled at her waist once she was done, and with a subdued laugh she fell into his arms. “Now, m’lady, it appears we got the little muttonheads to sleep in record time.”

“It appears you’re right,” Astrid said, giving him an innocent smile. “And how do you propose we spend this extra time?”

He crashed his lips into her smug grin, and together they fumbled their way back to their room.

* * *

Astrid woke up to darkness. For a moment she almost jumped out bed, sure she could hear her son’s cries.

But it was silent. The windows were half-open, to let in the cool midsummer breeze, and in the distance she could even hear Stoick’s Falls, faintly rumbling away.

Slowly she relaxed. Hiccup was still sound asleep, his arms around her and his head nestled in the nook of her neck. She felt the prickle of his beard on her shoulder as he breathed, and closed her eyes again. Her body must have adapted to being woken up at the same time every night.

Then she frowned.

_Why isn’t Finn crying?_

It was part of being a mother, perhaps, but her mind instantly went to the worst possible scenarios. Did he choke? Did he have a fever? Maybe he’d kicked his blankets off and caught a cold. Maybe he ate something from the ground today during playtime and nobody noticed. A blind panic seized her, and she pushed at her husband’s chest.

“Hiccup,” she hissed. “Hiccup! Wake up! Something’s wrong!”

“Huh?” he said blearily. “Wha-what? S’Zeffie?”

Astrid growled and punched him in the ribs. He let out a  _oof_  and curled into a ball, but she was already out of bed.

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” he said. “What’s the big hurry—” then he saw her face by the moonlight, and instantly scrambled for his leg. “Astrid, what’s wrong?” he asked urgently.

“Finn isn’t crying,” she said, forcing herself to stay calm. She threw him a robe as she shrugged one on herself. “We have to go check on him.”

He finished putting on his leg and went to her. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he reasoned as they walked briskly down the hall.

“He’s cried  _every_  night for the past  _ten!_ ” she hissed, trying to clamp down on her fear. He was her gift, and after all she’d been through birthing him, Odin had given her back her life to spend with him. Surely, _surely_ the gods wouldn’t be as cruel as to let any misfortune befall him. “Finn? Finn, are you oka—”

They rounded the last corner to their son’s room — and found a mass of white scales breathing in his crib.

It took Astrid three heartbeats to actually decipher the scene. Limbs where tangled together everywhere, the plump human ones and the short stubby scaly ones. Little Nuffink slept, a smile on his chubby face, safe and unharmed.

And wrapped almost completely around him, tail swishing from time to time in her dreams, was a Night Light hatchling. The white one —  _Nuffink’s_  hatchling, the one he’d recently named  _Sesame_  with his unsteady exuberant gibber.

“Oh,” she heard Hiccup breathe out, as he approached the two babies.

Astrid stepped closer and wrapped herself around his arm, though neither of them could bear to tear their eyes away from the sight.

Just then, Sesame did a small twitch, and her hind leg went up to scratch an itch on her belly. It bumped into Nuffink’s plump tummy instead, and the toddler’s face twisted into a knotted frown. He let out a displeased little mumble, and for a moment Astrid was sure he would wake up.

Sesame nudged her snout into the boy’s cheek, and, still asleep, she reached out her tongue to lick his face. Nuffink giggled, and his brows unknotted. His arms snaked a little tighter around the hatchling’s body, and in turn Sesame spread out her delicate wings over them both. Then the two of them snuggled closer into each other, back into deep slumber.

Astrid wasn’t sure what a melting heart sounded like, but both she and Hiccup had  _definitely_  just made that sound.

“How do you think she snuck in?” Hiccup asked after a long and blissful moment of staring at the two tiny forms. “I’ll bet it was Toothless who forgot to take her home after playtime, that rascal!”

Astrid pinched him on the side of his waist. She nodded at the window. “Through there, I wager.” Then she chuckled. “You think you can convince ole Toothy to let this little one sleep here from now on?”

Hiccup looked at her and smiled. “Free dragon babysitter,” he said. “Can’t say no to that.”

They spent a few more moments beside the crib. They were both still tired and had an early start the next day, but they just couldn’t seem to leave.

But then Hiccup turned around abruptly, and broke free of her grasp.

“Hiccup? Where are you going?”

He smiled back at her, hobbling away as he adjusted his leg.

“I  _have_  to get my sketchbook!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want more of Zephyr and Nuffink kicking ass, and more content involving the Haddocks, check out my Haddock family fic, **[Once There Were Dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701988/chapters/42137768)**. It's set 20 years after THW.


	3. Firemane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons don't leave AU. Toothless comforts Hiccup during Zephyr's birth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a [prompt](http://kuno-chan.tumblr.com/post/183680245751/so-whos-gonna-write-that-au-where-the-dragons-got) by [kuno-chan](http://kuno-chan.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, specifically an AU where the dragons never left, and Toothless is super helpful during Astrid’s pregnancy with Zephyr. **Written in Toothless’ POV, so everyone goes by their dragon names!**

Fishbone is scared. Very,  _very_  scared. And Halftail can smell it.

It’s an ugly acrid mixture of  _scared-anxious-terrified_ , rolling off his human in waves. Fishbone’s second-hide clings to him with dampness, and everywhere Halftail can catch whiffs of that stinging odor, like tiny claws poking at the soft tender linings of his nostrils. He doesn’t recall smelling this much of  _fear_  on the boy, at least not recently, not in the past thousand sunrises. Even when they were fighting the human with corpse-colored head-fur, his boy didn’t smell this... small. Fragile.

And it’s not just the smell, either. Fishbone is pacing, as he often does, but his normally flailing forelegs are huddled close to his torso, and those small delicate man-claws, which made so many clever things, like Halftail’s half tail, aren’t moving and forming shapes like they usually do. Instead, they are bunched into a ball, tight and pale and unmoving by his side. Even his voice, warbling unintelligible human-speak, seems higher pitched and close to breaking, trembling like a hatchling in the cold.

In the human-cave just a thin wall away, Sunsting screams.

Halftail feels Fishbone cling tight to his neck, man-claws digging into his scales. He hears Thornsting in the other human-cave, crooning worriedly, as other human voices uttered commands and endless streams of encouragements. Sunsting barks out something, harsh and hoarse, before she screams again, and Fishbone lets out a choked gasp.

Halftail feels helpless. He can only croon desperately to Fishbone, nudging with his snout, saying  _Don’t-afraid_ ,  _Sunsting-strong_ ,  _Hatchling-strong, will-be-good, will-be-fine_. But still the boy babbles, and taps his feet, and stutters, smelling of fear.

Seeing his human so vulnerable brings unpleasant pictures surging up from the back of Halftail’s head — pictures of Fishbone lying on his wood-nest, screaming unconsciously as the other humans sawed off his charred hindleg. Pictures of Fishbone huddled by his Sire, the big human with red head-fur, low and unmoving and broken. Pictures of Fishbone... waving his forelegs, shouting as he chased Halftail away.

With a shuddery sniff, Halftail buries those pictures back to where they belong, and nuzzles the side of Fishbone’s head for comfort. The boy murmurs something in human-speak, appreciative, and Halftail purrs deep in his throat.

They are here, now,  _together._  And that’s what matters.

So for the next half-day, they sit in that little human-cave, listening to Sunsting’s screams. Every time she does, Fishbone winces, or tenses, or lets out a little cry of his own, and Halftail croons at him, and wrap him in his forelegs, placing generous licks on his face and shoulders. And every time, Fishbone manages to calm down, if only a little, and Halftail’s slobber temporarily diffuses away that acrid, bitter stench...

And for a few breaths, his boy smells a little less terrified, and a little more sane.

* * *

There are a great many number of people outside of the man-shelter. Some of them are occasionally allowed inside, and Halftail hears their footsteps outside their human-cave, echoing slightly off the wooden ground. None of them bother to poke their head in to check on Fishbone, opting to go straight over to Sunsting, bringing all manners of things before being sent out by the horde of she-humans to fetch some more.

But most of them simply wait outside. It’s snowing, Halftail knows, and soon the sky turns dark. Still the humans wait outside, mostly quiet. Some clever human started a fire a small distance from the man-shelter, and soon it seems the entire human hive is there, outside of their man-shelter, offering support and awaiting news.

Fishbone pays them no heed, but Halftail knows he appreciates them being there. He is their Alpha, after all.

Idly, Halftail muses on how strange it is, that humans have such a hard time bringing forth their eggs. Not very practical, he thinks, to have to carry eggs  _inside_  their bellies, and hatch them as they come out. He shudders and flattens his ruff as he imagines the discomfort. No wonder Sunsting is screaming so much.

It’s almost uneventful when it happens. They both grew used to Sunsting’s screams and curses, so they don’t notice what’s different about this one. It doesn’t seem particularly loud, and gut-wrenching, or even painful. It just seems... relieved, and almost elated, though both boy and dragon were too tired to take heed. But a few breaths later, it’s joined by another sound, a different sound.

A cry.

There is a brief silence, before the neighboring human-cave erupts into a cacophony of cheers and shouts.

Fishbone, who was nestled snug and safe in the nook of Halftail’s forelegs, snaps his head up. He looks around, eyes wild, and his gaze meets Halftail’s.

He whispers something. His voice breaks. It’s unmistakable now, the cheer having spread, and still in that din the little cry, small in volume but making Halftail’s ears perk up. Somehow the people waiting outside in the snow gets the news, and before they know it, a dozen, two dozen humans barges into their human-cave, screaming just as loud as Sunsting had been.

Fishbone ignores them all. Halftail sees the glitter in his boy’s eyes, and knows them for what they are. He nudges Fishbone, softly, and licks him, and the boy cries, babbling as he does.

Halftail doesn’t understand what he says, but he recognizes the syllable that is name, and all the  _love_  that pours through, and the elation and relief. The bitter smell of fear finally washes away from those thin limbs, and his dragon-heart surges, impossibly proud and warm.

And Fishbone repeats the sentence, clear water still streaming down his cheeks, his voice hoarse and happy, and Halftail hears his name again, and understands the invitation.

_“Let’s go meet her, bud.”_

* * *

The hatchling is crying with a force that can shatter the sky. Everyone in the room seems to be talking, warbling at each other excitedly in human-speak, but still the hatchling’s screams pierces their chatter.

_It is good_ , Halftail thinks, nudging Fishbone and giving the boy a reassuring lick.  _It is very healthy_.

The humans fall silent for a moment as the two Alphas enter, then respectfully part ways to clear a path. In the center of the human-cave, straight ahead, Sunsting lies exhausted and weak and beaming at them both. In her forelegs, there is a small bundle.

Fishbone says something, or maybe it’s just an involuntary exclamation. He tries to take a step forward, but almost falls from how wobby his legs are, so Halftail lets him hold on to his ruff. Fishbone scratches a scale on his side and mutters his thanks, before together they make their way forward.

The boy smells scared again, Halftail notices, but it isn’t the scared-anxious-terrified of earlier, and holds none of that acrid quality. This kind of scared is a new and more subtle smell, of scared-disbelief. Or scared-pride...

Scared-pride-disbelief- _happiness_. Like Halftail’s dragon-heart.

When they finally get to the wood-nest, Sunsting has managed to sit up. The hatchling has calmed, and is now staring wide-eyed at Thornsting, who has turned her head sideways to better appraise her rider’s get.

_Frighten-hatchling-stop_ , Halftail growls at his friend. The blue dragon ignores his admonishment, and instead preens.

_Hatchling-beautiful_ , she croons back, ridiculously smug.  _Hatchling-not-frightened_.  _Hatchling-likes-Thornsting_.

Halftail huffs, indignant, and is about to retort when abruptly, Fishbone lets go of him, and rushes up to his mate. He touches lips with her, deep and apologetic and thankful, and she mews in surprise and joy. Then they break away, and Fishbone looks down.

Halftail cranes his neck to get a better peek. The hatchling hasn’t cried, and is looking up at its Sire. Sunsting stays something, teasingly, but Fishbone isn’t paying attention. Slowly, gently, he reaches down to pick up the bundle.

It has red head-fur, Halftail notices, still sparse, but the hue of Fishbone’s Sire. Briefly Halftail wonders if the hatchling might be that large and courageous man, coming back somehow into this world.

Beside him, Thornsting is babbling about how much she helped with the hatching process, and how she never left Sunsting’s side, and didn’t hurt any of the humans, even though her rider’s screams made her want to shoot off the barbs on her tail.

Halftail ignores her, watching as Fishbone touches his lips to the hatchling’s head, brushing against that red fluff. Then, with a quick beckon and a bright-eyed smile, he calls for Halftail’s name.

The dragon is almost hesitant. It is such a small thing, no bigger than one of his claws. What if he broke it? Humans don’t have scales, after all, and are so prone to breaking.

But Fishbone is insistent, calling him again, and he shuffled forward, wings folded. Thornsting is fuming with envy behind him, but right now Halftail’s only focus is the hatchling.

Fishbone rubs his chin with his free paw. Calls his name, reassures him. Then he adjusts his posture, careful to support the bundle still, but half holding it out.

Halftail spares one last look at his boy. Fishbone nods, adamant, and beside him, Sunsting nods too, smiling.

Slowly, cautiously, Halftail put his snout forward... and nuzzles the soft skin of the hatchling. Her head-fur makes his nose itchy, but she is small and warm, and spirited like thunder.

Then her tiny forelegs come up, and, perhaps accidentally, brush against his snout.

Halftail feels that surge in his dragon-heart again, the thumping beat, the coursing liquid fire that is joy and affection and...  _love_.

This is his Fishbone’s egg. His Fishbone’s hatchling.

When he pulls his head back, and blinks to adjust his vision, the first thing he sees is her head-fur. She is small and wrinkly and wriggling her forelegs, but her head-fur is every bit as fiery as her Grand-Sire.

Firemane, he was called. It is a good name, Halftail thinks. A strong name.

He looks down in time to see the hatchling look up.

She will be Firemane, too, he decides.


End file.
